


[let her breathe where the lick of memory wants]

by ephemerall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sign on the front of the building tells them it's been condemned, and she has to swallow down her laughter at the irony of parking here, of all places: a condemned lot, for a condemned building, and two damned souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[let her breathe where the lick of memory wants]

She picks him up late, after Dean's been asleep for hours, with a car she hotwired from a gas station twenty miles outside of town. When he slides into the passenger seat she can tell by body language alone he hasn't slept tonight. He turns to look at her, says _hey_, and she can see the worry lines around his eyes, the dark circles that confirm he isn't sleeping well, and there's tension in his shoulders. She's all for Sam learning more, gaining more powers and getting stronger, has been since day one, but even she knows when it's time for a break. She tells herself it's just one night without training, and it's not really going to hurt anyone, least of all Sam.

She pulls out of the motel parking lot and back onto the main road. _We should take a break, just for tonight,_ she says. She watches the road for the most part, glances at Sam out of the corner of her eye.

He rubs his forehead, a signal she's come to learn that he's either in pain or frustrated, sometimes both. _We can't afford to take a break,_ he says, rubbing at his eyes. He's beyond exhausted, which means he's been at it with Dean again, more arguing than sleep, more aggravation and yelling than time to eat. He's lost weight in the last two weeks; she can see it in his face.

_We can,_ she says softly. The fact that he doesn't argue with her any further than that speaks volumes on its own. Sam's worn thin lately, his temper on a hair-trigger. She's impressed that he's managed not to take it out on her, treating her like she's more than what she is.

_Where are we going?_ His voice is quiet, a little hoarse, probably from either yelling at his brother, or not talking at all. He rubs at his eyes again.

She doesn't answer him, and instead pulls into an empty parking lot for an apartment complex that's been shut down. The sign on the front of the building tells them it's been condemned, and she has to swallow down her laughter at the irony of parking here, of all places: a condemned lot, for a condemned building, and two damned souls. She thinks maybe this body might be overtired, because it's funnier than it should be. Sam doesn't say anything, just watches her, and she shuts off the car.

_What are we doing here,_ he asks her, looking around like he's waiting for something.

_Taking a break,_ she answers.

She doesn't wait for him to say anything more. She reaches over and presses the release for his seatbelt, and unbuckles her own. She slides across the front seat, turning as she goes, until she's in his lap facing him. It's almost automatic now, the way his hands settle on her hips. When she kisses him, his hesitation to kiss back is almost gone, now. His mouth is warm and a little sour, the slight taste of coffee that he probably had hours ago still present. She presses her body into his, and he puts his hands in her hair.

His hands tug at her hair, turn her head the way he wants it, to the angle he likes. She lets him have control, something she doesn't do – not lightly, and not for anyone but him. He pulls her hair, tipping her head to the side, and breathes against her ear, making her shiver, and mouths along her neck – warm, wet, open mouthed kisses until he reaches her collarbones. He lets go of her hair then, palms her breasts through her tee-shirt and makes her arch against him. His hands are huge and warm through the thin cotton. He moves his hands to her hips, pushes down, grinding her against his cock, hard in his jeans.

She kisses him, hard and deep, and then pulls back. _Let me,_ she says and watches his face, until he nods almost imperceptibly. She slides down onto her knees in the foot well, finds the release for the seat and pushes it back as far as it will go, leaving a few more inches of room for her between his knees and the dashboard. She reaches out and unbuckles his belt, gets the button on his jeans open and slides the zipper down carefully. She isn't going to waste time here, wants this as badly as he does. She pulls the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs open with one hand, and pulls his dick out with the other. He inhales sharply through his nose.

She leans forward, taking just the head into her mouth, tasting the salty-slick precome. Sam exhales loudly through his mouth, hips twitching. He slides his fingers into her hair but doesn't force her head down; she moves on her own, taking him in her mouth as far as she can. She can't take all of him in her mouth; he's too big, and she's grateful he doesn't try to force it. She sucks him in, pushes the flat of her tongue against the underside of his dick, until his cock bumps the back of her throat. The urge to gag is there, but she doesn't, pulling almost all the way off and then sucking him back in.

_God,_ he whispers, and she doesn't flinch. The word tingles all over her skin, sparks and sizzles just beneath the surface, but she isn't easily distracted. Instead, she lifts her eyes to see how he looks; his head is back, bottom lip between his teeth. When he looks down at her his pupils are blown wide, and he runs the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, making her shiver. She can feel the desire for him start in her chest and warm through her belly, pooling liquid between her legs.

And she thinks this is what he needed. Not just a break from power-training, but a break from Dean, from everything. She swallows him down and he gasps, one hand still in her hair and the other on her cheek. He tries to pull her up but she doesn't move; she wants to finish this. She's willing to do this for him, and she wants him to let her do it. She pulls off, the taste of him still on her tongue. _Let me,_ she says, one hand still on his cock.

_Yeah,_ he whispers back.

She works in earnest – slow at first, careful and resolute, and moves faster when his hips start hitching upwards. _Please,_ he whispers, and _fuck_. She works the base of his cock with her hand in perfect time with her mouth, until his breath hitches, and he gasps. He tries to push at her shoulders, a warning that he's going to come, but she doesn't stop. He throws his head back against the seat, and comes almost silently down her throat, breathing hard. She's not really used to the taste because he never lets her finish like this, but now she knows; she knows what Sam tastes like and she doesn't want to forget.

He hauls her up with his hands under her armpits, crushing her mouth to his with his hand at the back of her head, fingers tangled up in her hair. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, the urge to say it, and it's right there on her tongue with the taste of Sam's come, but instead she lets him kiss her until she can't breathe.


End file.
